Shattered Glass
by camillexelisabeth
Summary: Beauty is so fragile. It is easy to shatter, just like glass. Reflections only show us ourselves, but glass shows us what is beyond the mirror. But when it is shattered, we become distorted.


_Shattered Glass_

* * *

There was a flash of cruel metal, and pain. Searing pain. It was excruciating. I couldn't think, couldn't breath. My face was on fire. And then, I was slipping. I knew I was doomed.

Darkness consumed me.

* * *

I woke up in the infirmary. I shook my head and looked around. I was back at camp, and soft morning light filtered through the curtains. I blinked and felt my lashes brush against something soft on the left side of my face. I realized I could only see out of one eye. The left side of my face was covered by something. My hands shook as I slowly pressed my fingers to the bandage. It ran diagonally across my face. I got up and frantically looked around the room. There was no mirror.

I crept into the hallway and saw campers walking in and out of rooms. No one noticed me and I slipped into the main room of the Big House. Chiron was reading a book.

"Chiron?" I asked softly.

He glanced up and smiled sadly at me. "Francis, my dear, I'm pleased to see you awake. We were concerned for a while, but you were strong enough to pull through," Chiron said.

I felt like crying. "What is this?" I whispered, touching the bandage that covered my face.

Chiron's smile faded. "Francis," he began, but I was already gone.

I ran down to my cabin. I couldn't stand the feeling in the pit of my stomach. I had to find a mirror. I burst into my cabin and pushed passed my sibilings. I ignored their calls to me and stood facing the small mirror above my bunk. My hair fell around my once beautiful face in a tangled mess. But that was not what brought the tears. I slowly peeled the bandage off.

My reflection scared me. Running from the right side of my forehead diagonally across my face to my left cheek was a gash. Not just a little scratch, but a long red scar that would haunt me for the rest of my life. My left eye was narrowly missed, but the outside corner was turned down permanently. My face was marred.

I cried. My brothers and sisters stood in a loose circle around me whispering words of comfort, but they were shallow. No one told me I was still beautiful. No one lied to me.

I spent the rest of the day slowly wasting away. My mind didn't even wander. I just let myself go blank. I wasn't worth anything anymore. My beauty was gone.

* * *

The war was over. We had won. Victory was ours.

Victory was not mine. I didn't want to fight. I would have died protected my camp, but I didn't want to fight. I wasn't good at it in the first place, and that's what gave me my scar. Lack of skill.

I had taken to wearing my hair in my face. I never put it up anymore. I attempted to hide my face. I heard the whispers. I heard the gasps as I walked through the camp.

_She used to be so pretty._

_So sad, she was beautiful._

_What _happened_ to Francis?_

War happened. An enemy sword happened. _Life_ happened.

* * *

I drifted through the days. I was a year round camper, and by September, I was ready to give up. I was ready to just end it. But then autumn hit.

It was beautiful.

The valley began turning different colors: red, yellow, orange, and gold. Some of the trees were actual gold, their gilded leaves constantly being plucked by Hermes campers. The nymphs no longer wore thin green dresses; now they wore thicker chitons the in the colors of fall.

My scar was healing. It was no longer an angry red, but a softer pink. It wouldn't go away, but it wouldn't forever be the color of blood and war.

Still, it was painful; physically and mentally. I spent more time outside my cabin, but I still didn't talk to anyone other than my sibilings. I wandered around the camp and kept my mouth shut.

* * *

I used to be pretty. I had long blonde hair and shining eyes the color of the sky. My face was flawless. Until the battle. I liked being pretty. I liked the fact that people wanted to be my friend. I liked walking passed a group of boys and watching their eyes follow me.

Now, eyes still followed me, but they were scandalized. I could still feel their stares, but by spring, people were used to my scar; to my marred face.

* * *

Summer came quickly and I was suddenly surrounded by new campers. New faces flooded into my cabin and suddenly there was a need to for a cabin leader. I was the oldest, but I declined. I didn't want this, I wanted to go home to see my father. But he wouldn't be home, he wouldn't want me. I was stuck in hell.

But not for long.

Soon I would be gone, very soon. It was only a matter of time until my glass shattered.

A splash of cold water on my face brought me out of my suicide fantasies. I would just push through...

_And I did._

I am a daughter of beauty, but I am also a daughter of love. I am a demigod. I am a warrior.

* * *

Beauty is so fragile. It is easy to shatter, just like glass. Reflections only show us ourselves, but glass shows us what is beyond the mirror. But when it is shattered, we become distorted. It takes the strength of a warrior to mend the shattered glass.

Francis Sanford was a demigod. Francis Sanford was a daughter of Aphrodite. Francis Sanford _is_ a warrior.

* * *

ψcamille elisabethψ


End file.
